


Inside/Outside (the freedom remix)

by Robin_tCJ



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Prison, M/M, Oral Sex, Prison AU, Prison Sex, Remix, descriptions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-20 18:57:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9507656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_tCJ/pseuds/Robin_tCJ
Summary: Tony Stark's mentor and second-in-command, Obadiah Stane, has framed him for international arms dealing, and Tony has wound up in prison, sharing a cell with Steve Rogers, a Special Ops soldier who doesn't belong behind bars, either.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sabrecmc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabrecmc/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Thank You Fics](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4221948) by [sabrecmc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabrecmc/pseuds/sabrecmc). 
  * In response to a prompt by [sabrecmc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabrecmc/pseuds/sabrecmc) in the [Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness_2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness_2017) collection. 



> So, apparently I lost my MIND and decided that for Remix Madness I would expand on [sabrecmc](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sabrecmc/profile)'s short but gorgeous Prison AU, from the first chapter of her Thank You Fics. If you haven't read the original, you should, and it can be found at [this link right here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4221948/chapters/9546405)
> 
> I'm jumping around the timeline a little bit, but I hope it isn't too confusing.
> 
> Big thanks to [dapperanachronism](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dapperanachronism/pseuds/dapperanachronism) for the beta & plot help, and [Amonae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Amonae/pseuds/Amonae) for the plot help, too!

Of all the fucking things to happen in his life, this one is probably, well, the most recently shitty. He’d been having a good day, dammit. At least, as good a day as one can have when one is wrongfully imprisoned for selling weapons to terrorists. Of course, he’d never sold a weapon to a terrorist in his  _ life _ , but that hadn’t mattered to a jury of his peers or, for that matter, the judge that Stane had probably bought off.

So Stane got off scot-free, and was outside these stupid fucking concrete walls, running  _ Tony’s _ company into the ground. He’d heard of nothing but the stocks taking a nosedive and lay-offs, manufacturing moving overseas… it was a shit show, and he couldn’t do a damned thing about it.

His lawyers had assured him that seven years had been a ‘steal of a deal’, and he should be grateful to be spending his time in medium-security. I mean, sure, if you don’t mind being surrounded by white-collar criminals (like him, now, as far as the world was concerned, and wasn’t that a kick in the ass) or hardened felons who were all too eager to roll over on their fellow conspirators or inmates to get bumped up from maximum security. But, you know, he’s  _ lucky _ .

He’s  _ especially _ lucky right now, as he’s turning the corner in the corridor and coming face to face with Mac and four of his goons, looking threatening and hard as concrete. Tony glances up, and sure enough, the security camera pointing out of the ceiling is tilted juuuuust the wrong way to try and catch any of the action, and he has no idea which guard was paid off to let this happen, but if he lives to tell the tale he’s going to make sure the fucker is sued until his  _ grandchildren _ are paying restitution.

But he can’t show fear. He doesn’t know what Mac wants. Maybe Mac just wants to congratulate him on his successful bartering with the commissary to get ahold of the very last Snickers bar? It could happen.

“Stark,” he growls.

Nope, Mac wants to kill him. Well, what the fuck, then? What the hell could Tony have done to deserve being beaten to death in a prison hallway, anyway?

He doesn’t get a chance to voice his concerns or remind the thugs that they’re probably targeting the wrong guy, though. Mac takes a threatening step forward and Tony is faced with the far-too-timely reminder that Mac is much, much larger than he is. Mac takes another step forward and reaches for Tony, and Tony doesn’t back away, doesn’t run because even though he’s terrified and he’s pretty sure this is where he’s going to die, he doesn’t want  _ Mac _ to know that. So he holds his ground and Mac’s big, meaty paw of a hand is coming for his throat, and then suddenly there’s another hand – strong, elegant-but-blunt fingers wrap around Mac’s hairy wrist, and the forearm attached to it cords and bunches with muscle.

“Can I help you boys with something?”

Well, shit. It’s Rogers. Now Tony’s going to be responsible for Rogers’ death, too?

Dammit, he  _ likes _ Rogers. He’s good people. He’s kind, and generous, and he really doesn’t fucking belong in prison. Tony had hacked his file, and he’d watched during visitor hours, when he was supposed to be listening to Pepper recount the many terrible things Stane was doing to his company (nobody, but  _ nobody _ wants to buy weapons manufactured in Ghana, what the fuck was he thinking? Was that just an easier place to use to export them to, you know,  _ terrorists _ ? Had Stane  _ really _ made Stark Industries an international arms dealer right under Tony’s nose? Fuck,) and seen the young man who came to visit Rogers. The only person to come and visit Rogers. He had clearly been strung out, but he’d showed up. Which told Tony everything he’d needed to know, when faced with the information in Rogers’ file and looking at the two men side by side. One of them looked like the only drugs he’d ever touched were muscle-building protein powder and multivitamins, and the other one, gray-eyed and stringy-haired, kept fidgeting and nervously rubbing at the shoulder where his stump of an amputated arm hunched into his torso.

Yeah, Rogers had never introduced a narcotic into his system, or Tony would eat that stupid fucking horse calendar on the wall of their cell. He’d taken the fall for his friend. But he didn’t seem to be drowning in the bitterness that was Tony’s existence – obviously he’d  _ chosen _ to take the fall.

God, could he  _ be _ any more disgustingly noble?

Rogers would be out soon, anyway. He’d just been transferred in a month or so ago – up until then he’d been in California, serving his time. They’d had a problem with overcrowding, so suddenly Tony had a new cellmate that mostly made him feel inadequate and awkward and okay, yeah, maybe a little bit turned on but he’d been in prison for six years and he hadn’t gotten laid in longer, so, you know, fuck right off.

“Keep walkin’, Rogers,” Mac snarls, bringing Tony back to the present where he’s, mostly likely, about to die in a staggering amount of pain.

“Turn around and walk away, Mac,” Rogers bites back, and Tony wants to shout, to scream,  _ you fucking moron, he’ll kill us both _ , but he can’t force the words out through his clenched teeth.

Mac doesn’t answer, just takes a swing, and holy shit, Rogers is  _ fast _ . He ducks it with almost no effort, and then one of the goons – Deveau? Devane? Whatever, the guy’s a hulking brute and smells like sour cabbage even though to Tony’s knowledge there has never, ever, been sour cabbage inside the prison walls – steps forward with a hard kick. It catches Rogers in the thigh but he doesn’t go down, just whirls and then it’s a blur of fists and kicks and punches, and Tony can’t do anything but stand, paralyzed, against the wall. He should help Rogers. He knows that. He should try to help – it’ll hurt, but he can’t let Rogers die here alone, not when he had only been trying to help.

Except… well, Rogers is  _ winning _ .

Must be the military training. Rogers  _ had _ been Special Ops. Tony had seen that in his file, plain as day. But he hadn’t expected Rogers in a fight to be so... graceful. Like a ballet in the grimy, concrete hallway.

Tony’s  entranced. He can’t tear his eyes away. Rogers is ducking and whirling and kicking out and Mac’s slumped against the wall, not moving, and Jesus, did Rogers  _ kill _ him? No, he’s twitching a little, still, and Rogers is busy dispatching the last of Mac’s thugs when Tony hears the slap-slap-slap of guard boots echoing through the corridor, and the blaring of a klaxon alarm. Tony knows the drill, and slides to his knees so he can lie down with his nose to the dirt, but can’t bring himself to stop watching Rogers neutralize the last – fucking Osborn, he hates that guy – and then the guards are there, shouting and stomping and he sees a club fly out and hit Rogers in the temple even though Rogers’ hands are up, and he fucking  _ hates _ this place.

“What the fuck is going on here?” pants Burns, the guard with the itchy club hand.

Tony opens his mouth to tell him. To tell him and Hoskins and Crawford that Mac and the boys had come after him but Rogers, looking a little dazed, clenches his jaw and shakes his head a little. Just enough for Tony to see.

Tony blinks. Wait, what?

“Nothing, Sir,” Rogers spits out.

“That’s it. You’re all in the hole for fighting,” growls Crawford, and the guards work on getting the prisoners to their feet and herding them down the hall.

Tony moves to follow.

“Not you, Stark. You can go.”

He’d been against the wall, standing there like a fucking moron, a useless lump, so the guards think he's just a bystander. Not the intended victim. Not even involved at all.

“But I –”

“I’m not gonna tell you again.”

“Stark,” Rogers says, voice hard, but not even out of breath and goddamn it, Tony, now is not the time to pop a chub in the middle of a prison hallway. “Go. It’s fine.”

Tony doesn’t know what to say. No one’s ever – not even Rhodey had ever done something like that for him. Rhodey had protected him his whole adult life, sure, but he’d never – he’d never taken the punishment that should have been his. Earned or no.

Tony’s chest feels hot and tight, and his throat is dry. The group turns a corner, and he’s alone in the dark hallway, leaning against the wall while the klaxon blares on.

His hands will stop shaking any minute now.


	2. Chapter 2

He’s staring at the bottom of Stark’s bunk, wondering what to say. Only a few more hours, and then it will be daybreak and someone will come to collect Tony. He’s already divvied up his possessions among a few of the friendlier prisoners. Barton got his prized magnetic dartboard, and promised to use it to hustle as many candy bars as he could. Stark had grinned proudly and patted Barton on his thick, muscular shoulder.

He’d given Banner his notebooks filled with physics equations and mathematical theories, and managed to wrench a promise from Banner to keep taking his meds, to keep himself on an even keel.

Steve doesn’t know how he does it, really. How he seems to know exactly what everyone needs, what everyone can benefit from, when they don’t know themselves.

Except Steve himself.

Stark hadn’t bequeathed him anything in anticipation of his freedom. Not that Steve needed anything, or even wanted anything. He just felt like maybe – maybe he would have liked Stark to feel the need to do something nice for him.

He’s selfish, he knows. But Stark is this bright, shining beacon of genius and generosity and sharp, cracking wit, like a flame Steve can’t help but reach out to try and feel the heat of.

No matter how dangerous.

It’s what got him the extra time – Steve’s fascination with Stark. One too many hallway fights keeping him from becoming a smear on the wall, and now Stark’s getting out before Steve. Which, honestly, Steve’s glad about. It means Stark will be safe. On the outside, where they can’t touch him.

“So. I’m out tomorrow,” Stark says, breaking the silence from the top bunk, and Steve can picture him up there now. Hands interlaced and folded across his middle, lying on his back and staring up at the dingy ceiling.

What can Steve say?  _ Good luck? Goodbye? I wish you could stay so I don’t have to be alone here? I’ll miss you? I wish I could come with you? _

No. He can’t say any of those things. They’re in  _ prison _ . The hierarchy of prison doesn’t allow for normal relationships. If Steve were to tell Tony about his feelings, Tony would probably feel obligated to let Steve act on them. Because Steve is bigger, stronger, faster. Nobody messes with Steve. And Steve had spent the last months protecting Tony from the likes of Mac and anyone else who was happy to take Stane’s money. Tony had assured him that the thousands of dollars Stane had likely promised his attack dogs was akin to mere pocket lint for him.

So if Steve were to tell Tony how much he wanted him, Tony would probably let him do whatever he wanted. Out of a sense of obligation.

That’s how you get protectors in prison, isn’t it? By offering sex? Of course Tony couldn’t say no.

So Steve had pushed his feelings down, deep in the pit of his stomach, and tried not to think about it. Tried not to look at Tony when he was changing or sleeping or walking by. Just taking his tray at meal times and carrying it to the table, placing it in front of Tony while they sat and chatted with Barton and Banner and the rest, laughing at Barton’s circus stories. Trying not to think about Tony, and what he wanted.

And now, Tony’s getting out tomorrow.

“Yep,” Steve says, trying to keep his voice casual.

Neither of them say anything for a long time. Steve thinks maybe he’s fallen asleep.

“You ever gonna make a move on me?”

And Tony’s voice sounds tight, hoarse, like he’s having to force the words out, and Steve’s heart pounds. He’d noticed? Steve had been so  _ careful _ . No lingering glances, no offhand comments. But Stark had noticed him anyway? Fuck.

“Excuse me?” Steve knows he’s mostly stalling for time, but he does sort of want some clarification.

“I’m not blind, Rogers. I’ve seen how you look at me. You could, you know. I wouldn’t mind. God knows you’ve done enough for me in here. I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”

“So you wanna – because I protected you?” And it’s his biggest fear, when it comes to Stark. That he’d use sex as a currency, as payback for all the times Steve couldn’t bear to watch him be hurt or killed.

“Stark,  _ no _ .” His voice comes out reedy. “You think I want you to, what, bend over to  _ thank _ me? You think I was helping you just so you’d – that’s not what I want. That’s  _ never _ been what I wanted.”

“No?”

“God. No,  _ Tony _ . That’s – I would never.” It’s the first time he’s called Tony by his first name out loud. Tony doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“What if it wasn’t out of gratitude? What if I just want you?”

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. How could he – there’s no way. Those words couldn’t have just passed Tony’s lips. Steve’s spent his whole life not getting what he wants.

His hesitation goes on too long.

“Nevermind,” Tony says, voice hard.

“Wait,” Steve says, and it comes out as a croak. His heart is pounding, he can’t move a muscle. Could they? Could he really have that? They’d have to be quiet, but….

“C’mon, Rogers. One last hurrah to send me off to the pits of hell that are post-prison press junkets.”

Steve tries to think of something smooth. Tries to come up with a reason to tell Stark, no, we shouldn’t, it would be a bad idea.

But Tony’s leaving in the morning, and Steve will never see him again. It might be his only chance.

“Tony,” he breathes, and it sounds like pleading. Tony shifts, and Steve watches, unmoving, as he climbs down from his bunk and kneels beside Steve on the bottom mattress. He makes no noise at all, and then he’s in Steve’s personal space.

“Can I kiss you?” Tony asks, and it makes Steve’s cock jump up and pay attention. He hadn’t thought it would be that kind of – but he’ll take it. God, he’ll take it.

He surges up on his elbows and meets Tony’s mouth with his. He tastes like toothpaste and smells like clover, and his lips are dry and a little chapped, but the kiss is slick and rough, then turns gentle and soft when Tony creaks a noise out of his throat.

Steve licks at the seam of Tony’s lips, and Tony opens for him, letting Steve explore the roughness of his upper palate his wicked tongue. It doesn’t take long for Tony to lift one leg over Steve and straddle his hips, and Steve can feel the answering hardness pressing against his belly when Tony grinds down.

How had he ever thought  _ he _ would be the one taking advantage of his power? Steve realizes now – Tony’s the one with all the power here. Steve is helpless in the face of his magnetism.

Then Tony is pushing at him, turning and twisting and pushing Steve out of the bunk.

Confused, Steve breaks away from the kiss. “What – what’s wrong?”

Tony grins at him, keeps pushing at him. Steve finally rolls out of the bunk, but Tony doesn’t let him move away. He grips a hand around the waist band of Steve’s white prison sleep pants, and tugs Steve’s hips closer, so his chest is pressed against the ridge of the top bunk, and his shins are pressed against the ridge of the bottom, and everything in between is framed and laid out for Tony’s perusal.

“Now you’re getting it,” Tony says approvingly, as Steve stops moving. Tony’s hands push at his shirt, baring sensitive skin, which he scrapes his stubble against and mouths at with wet kisses and sharp nips.

“God, Tony,” Steve breathes, trying to keep his voice down. They can’t let anyone hear this. They’d be – it’s prohibited. Of course it happens, everyone knows, but Steve doesn’t need anyone on the block knowing this much about him.

Plus, he wants this to be just between them. Private.

Tony’s hands push at his shirt more insistently, and Steve, who has always thought he was fairly bright, finally gets the hint and pulls at it until he’s naked from the waist up. Tony makes a sound that is somewhere between approval and desire, and Steve feels his cock harden a little more. He has to hold back a whimper at the sound, and then Tony’s clever, deft fingers are pulling at his waist band, pushing his pants down to the middle of his thighs, revealing his skin to Tony’s gaze.

“God, Rogers, you’re gorgeous  _ everywhere _ , aren’t you?” Tony peppers wet kisses along Steve’s hip, and Steve’s knees threaten to turn to jelly.

“Steve,” he grits out, letting his forehead fall to press against Tony’s mattress on the top bunk. His hands are gripping Tony’s blanket viciously as he tries to keep his composure.

“Hmm?” Tony doesn’t stop, kissing across his belly, letting the stubble on his chin just barely graze Steve’s erection.

“Steve. Stop calling me Rogers.”

Tony lets out a little groan, and nips at Steve’s hip again. “Okay,  _ Steve _ ,” he says. “You’re gorgeous. Can I –?”

He lets a hot puff of air out across Steve’s cock, to make sure he’s not at all confused about the question.

“Y– yeah. God, yeah.” He doesn’t know what else to say, and he’s saved from having to come up with something when his brain shorts out entirely at the feeling of Tony’s hot, wet mouth engulfing him, talented tongue swiping across the head and under the frenulum.

It’s been years since anyone but Steve has touched his own dick, and Tony’s mouth is – God, it’s perfect. Hot and wet and slick, all powerful suction and fluttering tongue, tiny grunts and whimpers vibrating from his throat, as he takes Steve as deeply as he can, his hand cork-screwing the base he can’t reach.

“Oh, fuck, Tony,” he gasps, thighs clenching. He’s going to come embarrassingly fast at this rate, they should stop, but it’s too good, too hot, too perfect.

God, he wants Tony to stop, to keep going forever, wishes he could fuck him. It’s off the table, though – no condoms, no lube, nothing but spit and Steve’s not willing to go there. So he whimpers into the mattress of Tony’s bunk and tries not to thrust his hips forward.

The little noises of pleasure from Tony’s throat get a little more urgent, and another sound makes its way to Steve’s ears – the slick slapping is… no, he couldn’t – Steve leans away from the top bunk and looks down, under it, and sure enough, there’s Tony. Still sucking, kneeling on the mattress, one hand massaging Steve’s balls and the other furiously stroking his own leaking erection, and that’s it, that’s the thing that’s turning Steve inside out, biting back a cry as his cock jerks and comes and spurts into Tony’s open mouth. Tony moans, hand stripping at his cock faster, then he’s coming too. Even as he’s swallowing Steve’s come, his own splatters the bedding, flowing over his hand.

Steve shivers, and his knees finally give out, and he drops them onto the mattress so he and Tony are pressed together. He leans in for a kiss, and Tony makes a surprised sound. He only hesitates a moment, though, and then he’s kissing Steve deeply, sharing the taste of himself.

“God, we could have been doing that for months,” Tony says with a shaky laugh when he finally pulls away.

“Tony, I –”

“Shh. Lay down. We don’t need to talk about it.”

Steve wants to. He wants to talk about what happens now, do they keep in touch, can Steve come see him when he’s out?

But he doesn’t say that. It would be needy and greedy and Steve’s already been given one gift tonight.

Tony rolls over him, and scoots up to the top bunk, letting out a deeply contented sigh as he shuffles to get comfortable.

Steve wishes he’d stayed down here, with him, but there’s barely enough room on the bunk for his own body, let alone Tony’s, too.

When Steve wakes in the morning, Tony has already gone. He’ll have a new cellmate by the end of the day, and he’ll never see Tony Stark again.


	3. Chapter 3

“Well, if I expected to run into anyone on 98th Street today, it was not you, Rogers.” Tony tries to put more levity into his voice than he feels. He really  _ hadn’t _ expected to run into Rogers. He’d known he was out, now. Had kept up with it, quietly, and seen Rogers was released a few months ago. But Rogers hadn’t answered the one letter he’d sent, so he’d assumed the man wouldn’t want to see him.

So he’s not sure why, when he’d seen Rogers walking along the street with that purposeful stride, he’d crossed so they’d ‘accidentally’ meet on the sidewalk.

He looks different. Hair sun bleached, face covered with a soft-looking beard Tony finds ridiculously sexy.

“Tony.” Rogers’ eyes are wide, and his face flushes immediately. “You’re – hi. How are – how’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know,” Tony says, taking a little bit of sick, twisted pleasure in Rogers’ discombobulation. “Building a new company from the ground up, revolutionizing communications technology, learning how to make pad thai, that kind of thing.”

“Pad thai?”

God, he looks so adorably confused. “Yeah, you know, spicy peanut sauce?”

“I don’t – um –”

“Relax, Rogers.” Tony wants to shut him up with a kiss, but he knows that’s off limits. Obviously.  _ Why didn’t you answer my letter? Why didn’t you look me up? How’s life for you on the outside? You doing okay? _

Tony doesn’t say any of it out loud.

“Well. Um. I was just on my way to – to see Bucky.”

Bucky. Of course. Rogers had told him about Bucky when they were inside.  _ Inside _ . Like they were some kind of hardened criminals instead of what they were, which was two people in the wrong place at the wrong time, one fucked by circumstance and betrayal, the other bucked by his own moronic self-sacrifice. Rogers had eventually told him the story, some time after that first altercation with Mac but before Tony had been granted his release. Bucky was the reason Rogers had been in prison. Rogers’ best friend, who lost an arm to an IED in the war when they were overseas, and the government stopped funding his pain meds so he’d turned to smack and Rogers had taken the fall for the frankly ridiculous amount of drugs Bucky had managed to get his hands on. And Bucky, the bastard, had let him.

“He’s – it’s a couple blocks. Well, another ten or so. At a halfway house.”

“He get cleaned up?” Tony asks, falling into step beside Rogers, who gives him a strange look, then acquiesces to the prospect of company.

“Yeah. He’s – he’s doing better.”

“Good to hear,” Tony says, and it sounds hollow to his own ears. God, the last time he’d seen Rogers it’d been in a prison cell, the taste of his come still on Tony’s tongue, bitter and salty and perfect. “So. What – how’s life?” As if Tony hadn’t been stalking Rogers’ online activity, isn’t fully aware of how life is.

“Pretty good. Got a job in construction.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you know.”

And Tony does know. He’s lucky – he still had money, still had resources, still had loyal people around him when he got out, and he was able to create a new tech start-up. Stark Resilient. Stane was still a piece of shit, renamed the company to Stane Industries and kept running it into the ground, but Tony had this. But Steve… Steve was a convicted felon with a criminal history and he’d probably been  _ lucky _ to get the construction gig.

“I could give you a job.”

Steve snorts. “Doing what? You don’t even know anything about me.”

Tony doesn’t even know how he can say that. They’d spent months together in the same eight-by-eight room. “I owe you.”

Steve stops walking abruptly, turning to look at Tony with stricken eyes.

“I didn’t – I mean – you saved my life,” Tony says, stumbling over the words. Steve looks horrified. But surely Steve had known that? That Tony wouldn’t have survived on the inside if it weren’t for Steve?

“Is that why – you – is that –”

“No,” Tony says harshly, finally getting it. God, he can be dense. Steve thinks that’s why Tony had blown him that night, before he got out. “That’s not why. That’s not even why – I don’t know why I said that.”

“Tony.”

“You saved me, Steve, but that’s not why I sucked your dick.” He puts as much bravado into it as he can.

“Tony!” Steve hisses, glancing around. Tony rolls his eyes – they’re in New York. Literally no one is paying them any attention. He could drop to his knees and stick his tongue in Steve’s asshole and people would just walk around them. Maybe someone would live-tweet it.

“Look, I didn’t come say hi to you to make things awkward,” Tony says, giving in a little. “That’s not – I just wanted to say hi.”

_ Why didn’t you answer my letter? _

“I – look, Tony, this is – I just did what anyone would do.”

“I think you and I both know that’s not true.”

Steve shrugs a little.

“Still.”

“I wrote you a letter after I got out.”

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid fucking mouth. _

“I – I know. I got it, I mean.”

“You didn’t write back.”

_ Oh, holy Jesus, stop talking. _

Steve doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I didn’t know what to say,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “What we – I didn’t know how to talk to you. After.”

“After sex? That wasn’t –”

“No. Not… you left. In the morning. You didn’t wake me up to say goodbye.”

It’s Tony’s turn to stop and stare. Steve meets his gaze full-on, and Tony is suddenly reminded of the coiled grace and confidence in those thick, well-formed limbs. Of a concrete corridor with a shitty security camera and four men coming after him for a few thousand bucks, and Steve rushing into the fray without hesitation.

“I didn’t know how,” Tony admits, swallowing drily. “We weren’t – I didn’t know how.”

“I would have liked to have seen you.”

“Me, too.”

Steve shrugs one shoulder, and starts to walk again. Tony falls into step beside him.

“Look, Steve,” Tony says, taking a deep breath. “I know we don’t – we lived together for months, you know? And then suddenly we didn’t and I – I missed you.”

“You did?” Steve looks genuinely surprised. “You don’t think I – took advantage?”

Tony snorts. “Of what, my gratitude for you keeping me safe in there? I’m  _ rich _ , Steve. If I wanted to thank you, I would have just wired you a few hundred thousand into your commissary account.”

It’s Steve’s turn to snort.

“No,” Tony continues. “I wanted to have sex with you because, Christ, look at you.”

The blush that stains Steve’s cheeks is going to give Tony spank material for the next year, he’s sure of it.

Steve stops walking, hands shoved in the pockets of his sinfully threadbare jeans.

Tony quirks an eyebrow at him, coming up short beside him. Steve jerks his chin at the brownstone in front of them, with its hydrangea bushes in the front.

“This is my stop,” he says.

“Ah.” Tony doesn’t want to walk away. Not again. He’d already done that once.

“What – are you doing anything? Later?”

Steve studies him for a long moment. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

Tony grins. “Not at all. But I wanna have dinner with you anyway.”

Steve blushes again, and Tony  _ wants _ .

He pulls a business card out of his lapel pocket and holds it out to Steve between his index and middle fingers. “That’s my private cell. Call me when you’re done here. We’ll go out. Catch up.”

“Tony…” Tony can hear the protest in it.

“It wasn’t gratitude, Steve,” he says, trying to keep his voice level. Serious. “It was – I liked you. I think I might still like you. I want time to find out.”

And god, laying it out like that, flayed and open and fucking  _ honest _ hurts, makes his palms sweat, but Steve isn’t laughing at him. Steve’s mouth softens into a gentle smile. “Yeah?”

Tony takes a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Then Steve is in his space, right in his space, so Tony can feel sweet breath puff warmly on his face.

“This okay?” Steve asks, eyes dark and warm.

Tony tries to say yes, but the word won’t come out, so he just nods, and then Steve captures his mouth in a chaste kiss that sends sparks flying down to Tony’s toes, leaves him breathless.

Steve pulls back and grins. “I’ll call you later.”

“I – okay,” Tony says. Steve gives him another smile, then turns and walks toward the front door of the brownstone. Tony blinks after him for a long moment, then turns and heads back down the sidewalk.

His phone buzzes in his pocket almost immediately. He pulls it out, and it’s a text from an unknown number.

_ I’m sorry I didn’t write to you. _

Tony types back quickly.  _ Well, it worked out, anyway. _ His fingers shake with nerves.

_ Yeah. It did. _


End file.
